Chapter Three: Yessir, That's Our Baby
Naomi had never seen--nor even fathomed--so big, majestic, and crowded a place as New York, New York. The trip there had been long, but entertaining--Father Mulcahy had driven the three of them over the hilly Pennsylvania roads, telling everything he could remember from his days in Korea, sometimes telling the same stories over again at Naomi's request. She was absolutely fascinated by every aspect of the M*A*S*H unit and the semi-psychotic inhabitants thereof--it was clear that she considered them the closest thing to family she had, apart from possibly the monks who had raised her, and she wanted to know everything she could about them before she met them.
But the stories had stopped when they reached New York and had to maneuver through its snail-paced traffic. Driving kept Father Mulcahy busy, but Naomi fell silent for a different reason. The city awed her with its sky-high office buildings, huge stores, and teeming population, and seemed surreal and dreamlike. She could hardly think coherently, as though her mind had shorted out from overload. It frightened her a bit, but excited her, too.
Finally, however, suitable parking was found, and the three walked a short distance--accosted by various street vendors all the way--to the hotel and into the large room set aside for their mini-reunion.
Naomi tried to smile, but found herself shrinking back, when every head in the room--and there were seventeen of those so far--turned to stare at her as the three of them walked in. No one said a word.
Then a thinnish, tallish man in what was left of an ancient Hawaiian shirt, with gray hair beginning to turn silver, stepped over, three preteen- to-teenage children trailing behind. He took Naomi's hand in one of his and passed his other one slowly along her cheek. "Sister Naomi," he said quietly, steadily, "my name is Benjamin Franklin Pierce. You can call me Hawkeye."
Naomi stared up at him--then threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around him. They stayed like that for a full ten seconds, both realizing that they had expected to be laughing when this moment came, but instead were choking up. Naomi drew back and finally broke into a wide, incredulous smile...then a laugh, one that Hawkeye joined in with. "It's wonderful to see you again," Hawkeye said, embracing her once more, as though to make sure it was true.
"You always did try to keep her all to yourself," came a voice behind. "Let us have our fun, too!" Hawkeye turned around to find Margaret standing behind him.
"My apologies," Hawkeye said to Naomi. "This is Margaret Houlihan Pierce, and no matter what you've heard about us, you should know that I finally *did* learn that it's best to do as she says." He gave her a roguish grin and stepped aside as Margaret embraced Naomi in her turn. "The Potters aren't here yet," Margaret informed her. "They called a while ago-- their plane was delayed, but they're coming, believe me. It shouldn't be long."
The young nun moved to the middle of the room and met all the Pierces one by one, surprising the three children by knowing their names. Then came the Hunnicutts. Greeted especially warmly were Erin Williamson--formerly Hunnicutt--and her husband Christopher, whose personality was amusingly reminiscent of B.J.'s. The latest "real" reunion had taken place shortly after their marriage two years before, combining the wedding celebration with their 20th year since they left Korea. Today, however, Erin had some news that no one but the Hunnicutts had known theretofore--that in about seven months, the first Williamson child was to be born, and B.J. would be a grandparent.
Hawkeye screamed with laughter, clapping his hands together. "I love it!" he cried. "*Grandpa* B.J.! ...Man, but that makes me feel old. I mean, look at us. Have you seen pictures of us from back in Korea, Naomi?"
"A few," said Naomi.
"Well, don't worry--it's those dashing men and lovely women that took care of you, not we graying-silvering-whitening-or-balding, glasses- wearing, quickly-wrinkling old coots that we're turning into, all in our later forties--that's Radar, who of course is not present--fifties, or higher still. You got loved by normal, baby-parent people."
Naomi giggled, but replied sincerely, "It wouldn't have mattered."
After that came Charles with his wife, Eleanor, and daughter, Clara, who was nineteen now. To the relief of Hawkeye and B.J., she had taken after her clever, down-to-earth mother much more than her pompous father, though she was very formal. She was also very intelligent, and everyone listened with interest to her accounts of college life.
She was not, a bit to Charles's dismay, going to be a doctor--but he had, predictably, approved of her desire to play violin professionally. "A bit bittersweet, of course," he would murmur to Margaret when the subject came up later. "As I've said before, after the deaths of those musicians in Korea, music will always be blessing and curse together for me. But," he had continued philosophically, with his habitual pause after dragging out the word just a bit, "it's only a comfort and a happiness to her, and I can still remember the days when it was like that for me. ...Let her chase it, then. She's certainly talented enough."
Next in line were the Klingers--Max, Soon-Li, and their son Paul. Naomi was very pleased to meet Soon-Li after hearing about her, but it was Klinger whom she'd wanted most to see of the family. She'd heard all the Section Eight antics that Father Mulcahy could remember on the way to New York, and thought it hysterical that he'd spent all his time trying to get out of Korea, only to end up staying there for some time afterward with Soon-Li.
"I remember you!" Klinger said, grabbing her chin affectionately. "I used you to teach the nurses how to make Lebanese sarapes! You were an adorable little girl. We loved having you around. It's too bad we couldn't cut through the Army's million rolls of red tape to get you here in the first place." He looked at her carefully. "Did you really want to be a nun?"
Sister Naomi nodded. "If I had always known of you, maybe I would have wanted to honor you by becoming a nurse. But I was raised by the monks, and they did not know who left me at their monastery. They were kind to me, and I felt that I had no family but that of God. So I devoted my life accordingly. I don't regret it, even now that I've seen you all. But..." --and here she looked at Maria Angelica a bit timidly-- "after knowing all of you, and seeing everything I saw on my way here, I'm not sure I want to stay in one building all my life. Other nuns have gone to serve the poor outside of convents. If I feel called to do so, I think I may do the same."
Maria Angelica only smiled softly. "It may be a while yet, but it would be understandable."
Just then, there came a cry at the large room's doors of "Howdy, gang!" Slowly and haltingly entered the aging Colonel Potter, accompanied by wife Mildred, who was a bit more able than he, and who led him along a bit--which the former cavalryman plainly resented just a bit, but consented to all the same. The two of them came over to Sister Naomi.
"Hello, Naomi," greeted Mildred. "We're the Potters, in case you hadn't guessed."
"Why, look at you," said the Colonel, taking Naomi's hand, as most of the others had done. "To think when I saw you last, you were drinking milk out of a surgical glove. We didn't think we'd ever see you again. You're quite the little lady now." He gestured to her nun's habit. "That's quite a frock, too. We weren't sure you'd like that kind of life. Do you?"
"Klinger just asked me the same," replied Naomi. "I do, really I do. And I can't tell you how grateful I am that you all took care of me, and knew where to take me. It really was for the best."
The Potters went to find chairs, and Naomi took a last look over the room. The only remaining figure was standing by Hawkeye. He took a step forward, but Naomi had already left her place to walk to him. She took his hands before he could react. "My name is Naomi," she said. "I know you didn't see me, but I've heard so much about you--and I thought it so kind that you wanted to adopt the boy Kim..."
Trapper, who had come to New York alone, leaving his family at home, gazed back at her. He pressed his lips together and nodded a sad affirmative. "I wish it had worked out," he said after a moment. "I've watched you since you came in--you remind me of him somehow..."
"You loved him, didn't you?"
Trapper nodded solemnly. "As much as I've ever loved anyone. Have you heard anything about him--do you have any idea what happened to him?"
Naomi dropped her eyes to the floor. "There are so many boys in Korea named Kim, and I knew so little of anything, cloistered in the monastery. I know nothing of him. I'm sorry."
Trapper looked down, too. "I wish I'd been there when you were. Maybe I could have given you a better home--adopted you instead."
Naomi shook her head slightly. "That's past now. And most likely, even that wouldn't have gotten me to the States--I had no knowledge of my blood relatives, and the Army would have wanted that. I am very happy to have had any life at all. I know what could have happened to me. Even in a convent, I'm still freer than I would ever have been...and now I'm in America, and if I ever want to, I can leave the convent."
Trapper nodded once more, managing half a smile. The moment faded, and both suddenly looked around the room, seeming disconcerted as they remembered how many others were there.
"Well, that's all the introductions, anyway," broke in Klinger. "Time for the food!"
And so they ate and talked, the others filling in incidents at the hospital that had escaped the Father's memory, and asking Naomi questions about her life--past, present, and hopes for the future.
At last the evening became night. "We should take a stroll through New York once the Potters decide to get to bed," Hawkeye whispered to B.J. "I know my daughters are dying to look at the buildings lit up and celebrity-watch."
"It'll dazzle the heck out of Naomi, too, I'll bet. Sounds good to me," B.J. replied.
Instead of replying, Hawkeye raised his voice and addressed the table at large. "All right, now! Friends, Koreans, medical men--and medical women, company clerks, children, and other life forms--lend me your ears. I have something of great interest to Naomi--something I've kept since her departure--and I think the time has come to give it back." From within his old and battered bathrobe, which he had also brought for the occasion, he drew a folded piece of yellowed, musty paper, and handed it to Naomi. Wonderingly, she unfolded it and read it--and clapped a hand over her mouth, once more close to tears.
"What is it?" Klinger asked Hawkeye.
It was Naomi who answered. "This must be from my mother--the note she wrote to explain her leaving me with you. 'This is my baby'..." She skimmed over the note, reading parts under her breath..." 'She is good baby...strong...beautiful. ...Please take care of her...I cannot...but..' ." She looked at Hawkeye, to Sister Maria Angelica, and around the table, then read the last words aloud. " '...But I love her.' " She couldn't speak, but the poetic eyes that Father Mulcahy had noticed spoke for her.
"Hawkeye, I thought we included that note when we dropped her off at the monastery," B.J. finally said.
Hawkeye shook his head. "No, I left a note that said much the same thing, though I didn't mention who we were--but I kept the original. Sentimentally, I guess, but now I can return it. And with the return of that note, Sister Naomi, I hereby dub you an official member of each of the following families: Pierce, Hunnicutt, Winchester, Klinger, Potter, Mulcahy, O'Reilly, Burns, Blake, and McIntyre--heck, and Freedman, for that matter. You're as much a part of the 4077th as anyone, and we've always considered ourselves related somehow, whether we were together or otherwise. We can't give you back your birth family, so we're giving you ten or eleven honorary ones. Congratulations."
Naomi only managed a brief thank-you before she finally, inevitably did what had been building all night: she burst into tears.
After that came more celebratory things--music and a bit of dancing, more talking, more joking, and dessert. Finally, as Hawkeye predicted, the Potters decided to go to their hotel room, several floors above, and turn in. Charles also declined to walk the streets of New York--some things never changed; the unspoken theory was that it was too tourist-like for a man of his bloodlines and caliber--but Clara and her mother wanted to go, and joined the throng. The group saw plenty of lit-up buildings, though no celebrities, and ended up several blocks away, filling a cafe to have final coffees and, in the children's cases, final desserts.
"You'll come visit us sometime, won't you, Naomi?" asked Becky Pierce.
"And us?" asked Ben Hunnicutt.
"And us?" added Clara Winchester.
"And us, too!" put in Paul Klinger.
"And I'm sure the O'Reillys would love to see you, too--if it wasn't for a really big family thing, they would have come, Mr. O'Reilly says," Beth Pierce explained. "You'll like his house, too--he's got all the animals you could ever want, and big vegetable gardens, and flowers..."
"And even Mr. Burns's house is pretty all right," cut in Benjamin John (commonly known as B.J.), her brother. "He's not *quite* so bad now as in the Army, I guess, and anyway, Mrs. Burns makes great pies."
The children--well, comparative children, considering their ages-- chattered on at one big table with Naomi, who seemed very comfortable around them. The adults--also comparatively--watched her still from their own tables.
"The newest child of the M*A*S*H gang," observed Sister Maria Angelica. "You'll have her completely torn between convent and Crabapple Cove, Hawkeye, if your children keep at it much longer."
"Yeah, really--some night she'll turn up on my doorstep, demanding to meet everyone in town," Hawkeye replied. "And you'll be back at the convent, singing, 'How do you solve a problem like Na-o-mi-i-i?'" He sang the line himself, grinning mischievously as he did so.
Naomi looked over at him as he sang, then excused herself from the "children's table" and came to his. "Hawkeye, I just remembered something that I've been meaning to tell you."
"Oh?"
"Yes. You told me earlier about all the last goodbyes I got, the things you all said before I was given to the monks--and yours ended 'be happy', didn't it?"
"Uh-huh."
"Maybe I remembered it subconsciously," Naomi said. "That's what my name means, you know. Well, the most-used definition is really 'pleasant'-- but in some interpretations, the name Naomi means 'happy'. I got that nickname in the monastery, but I didn't have to keep it. I chose to on my own."
"She's right," said Father Mulcahy. "It does mean 'happy'. I'd forgotten."
Hawkeye stared for a second--then began to laugh. "They all fit. Charles called you 'small one', and you're petite; B.J. called you 'angel', and you gave your life to the convent...and I didn't call you anything, but I told you to be happy...and there you are. And we didn't want to give you up, but when we did, it ended up bringing you back to us. Incredible."
Father Mulcahy nodded, looking first to Naomi and then to B.J., Hawkeye, and Maria Angelica. "God does move in mysterious ways."
Naomi fingered her mother's letter and nodded. She looked one more time over the scene--and the members of many of her eleven honorary families. She remembered one more thing, too--the Biblical Naomi had thought once, after most of her family died, that she would be alone and abandoned--but she ended up with Ruth, and Ruth in turn was married, and welcomed Naomi into her new family. Her name was more appropriate than she'd thought.
*God does move in mysterious ways*, Father Mulcahy had said.
*Amen,* Naomi thought to herself.
(end)
Naomi had never seen--nor even fathomed--so big, majestic, and crowded a place as New York, New York. The trip there had been long, but entertaining--Father Mulcahy had driven the three of them over the hilly Pennsylvania roads, telling everything he could remember from his days in Korea, sometimes telling the same stories over again at Naomi's request. She was absolutely fascinated by every aspect of the M*A*S*H unit and the semi-psychotic inhabitants thereof--it was clear that she considered them the closest thing to family she had, apart from possibly the monks who had raised her, and she wanted to know everything she could about them before she met them.
But the stories had stopped when they reached New York and had to maneuver through its snail-paced traffic. Driving kept Father Mulcahy busy, but Naomi fell silent for a different reason. The city awed her with its sky-high office buildings, huge stores, and teeming population, and seemed surreal and dreamlike. She could hardly think coherently, as though her mind had shorted out from overload. It frightened her a bit, but excited her, too.
Finally, however, suitable parking was found, and the three walked a short distance--accosted by various street vendors all the way--to the hotel and into the large room set aside for their mini-reunion.
Naomi tried to smile, but found herself shrinking back, when every head in the room--and there were seventeen of those so far--turned to stare at her as the three of them walked in. No one said a word.
Then a thinnish, tallish man in what was left of an ancient Hawaiian shirt, with gray hair beginning to turn silver, stepped over, three preteen- to-teenage children trailing behind. He took Naomi's hand in one of his and passed his other one slowly along her cheek. "Sister Naomi," he said quietly, steadily, "my name is Benjamin Franklin Pierce. You can call me Hawkeye."
Naomi stared up at him--then threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around him. They stayed like that for a full ten seconds, both realizing that they had expected to be laughing when this moment came, but instead were choking up. Naomi drew back and finally broke into a wide, incredulous smile...then a laugh, one that Hawkeye joined in with. "It's wonderful to see you again," Hawkeye said, embracing her once more, as though to make sure it was true.
"You always did try to keep her all to yourself," came a voice behind. "Let us have our fun, too!" Hawkeye turned around to find Margaret standing behind him.
"My apologies," Hawkeye said to Naomi. "This is Margaret Houlihan Pierce, and no matter what you've heard about us, you should know that I finally *did* learn that it's best to do as she says." He gave her a roguish grin and stepped aside as Margaret embraced Naomi in her turn. "The Potters aren't here yet," Margaret informed her. "They called a while ago-- their plane was delayed, but they're coming, believe me. It shouldn't be long."
The young nun moved to the middle of the room and met all the Pierces one by one, surprising the three children by knowing their names. Then came the Hunnicutts. Greeted especially warmly were Erin Williamson--formerly Hunnicutt--and her husband Christopher, whose personality was amusingly reminiscent of B.J.'s. The latest "real" reunion had taken place shortly after their marriage two years before, combining the wedding celebration with their 20th year since they left Korea. Today, however, Erin had some news that no one but the Hunnicutts had known theretofore--that in about seven months, the first Williamson child was to be born, and B.J. would be a grandparent.
Hawkeye screamed with laughter, clapping his hands together. "I love it!" he cried. "*Grandpa* B.J.! ...Man, but that makes me feel old. I mean, look at us. Have you seen pictures of us from back in Korea, Naomi?"
"A few," said Naomi.
"Well, don't worry--it's those dashing men and lovely women that took care of you, not we graying-silvering-whitening-or-balding, glasses- wearing, quickly-wrinkling old coots that we're turning into, all in our later forties--that's Radar, who of course is not present--fifties, or higher still. You got loved by normal, baby-parent people."
Naomi giggled, but replied sincerely, "It wouldn't have mattered."
After that came Charles with his wife, Eleanor, and daughter, Clara, who was nineteen now. To the relief of Hawkeye and B.J., she had taken after her clever, down-to-earth mother much more than her pompous father, though she was very formal. She was also very intelligent, and everyone listened with interest to her accounts of college life.
She was not, a bit to Charles's dismay, going to be a doctor--but he had, predictably, approved of her desire to play violin professionally. "A bit bittersweet, of course," he would murmur to Margaret when the subject came up later. "As I've said before, after the deaths of those musicians in Korea, music will always be blessing and curse together for me. But," he had continued philosophically, with his habitual pause after dragging out the word just a bit, "it's only a comfort and a happiness to her, and I can still remember the days when it was like that for me. ...Let her chase it, then. She's certainly talented enough."
Next in line were the Klingers--Max, Soon-Li, and their son Paul. Naomi was very pleased to meet Soon-Li after hearing about her, but it was Klinger whom she'd wanted most to see of the family. She'd heard all the Section Eight antics that Father Mulcahy could remember on the way to New York, and thought it hysterical that he'd spent all his time trying to get out of Korea, only to end up staying there for some time afterward with Soon-Li.
"I remember you!" Klinger said, grabbing her chin affectionately. "I used you to teach the nurses how to make Lebanese sarapes! You were an adorable little girl. We loved having you around. It's too bad we couldn't cut through the Army's million rolls of red tape to get you here in the first place." He looked at her carefully. "Did you really want to be a nun?"
Sister Naomi nodded. "If I had always known of you, maybe I would have wanted to honor you by becoming a nurse. But I was raised by the monks, and they did not know who left me at their monastery. They were kind to me, and I felt that I had no family but that of God. So I devoted my life accordingly. I don't regret it, even now that I've seen you all. But..." --and here she looked at Maria Angelica a bit timidly-- "after knowing all of you, and seeing everything I saw on my way here, I'm not sure I want to stay in one building all my life. Other nuns have gone to serve the poor outside of convents. If I feel called to do so, I think I may do the same."
Maria Angelica only smiled softly. "It may be a while yet, but it would be understandable."
Just then, there came a cry at the large room's doors of "Howdy, gang!" Slowly and haltingly entered the aging Colonel Potter, accompanied by wife Mildred, who was a bit more able than he, and who led him along a bit--which the former cavalryman plainly resented just a bit, but consented to all the same. The two of them came over to Sister Naomi.
"Hello, Naomi," greeted Mildred. "We're the Potters, in case you hadn't guessed."
"Why, look at you," said the Colonel, taking Naomi's hand, as most of the others had done. "To think when I saw you last, you were drinking milk out of a surgical glove. We didn't think we'd ever see you again. You're quite the little lady now." He gestured to her nun's habit. "That's quite a frock, too. We weren't sure you'd like that kind of life. Do you?"
"Klinger just asked me the same," replied Naomi. "I do, really I do. And I can't tell you how grateful I am that you all took care of me, and knew where to take me. It really was for the best."
The Potters went to find chairs, and Naomi took a last look over the room. The only remaining figure was standing by Hawkeye. He took a step forward, but Naomi had already left her place to walk to him. She took his hands before he could react. "My name is Naomi," she said. "I know you didn't see me, but I've heard so much about you--and I thought it so kind that you wanted to adopt the boy Kim..."
Trapper, who had come to New York alone, leaving his family at home, gazed back at her. He pressed his lips together and nodded a sad affirmative. "I wish it had worked out," he said after a moment. "I've watched you since you came in--you remind me of him somehow..."
"You loved him, didn't you?"
Trapper nodded solemnly. "As much as I've ever loved anyone. Have you heard anything about him--do you have any idea what happened to him?"
Naomi dropped her eyes to the floor. "There are so many boys in Korea named Kim, and I knew so little of anything, cloistered in the monastery. I know nothing of him. I'm sorry."
Trapper looked down, too. "I wish I'd been there when you were. Maybe I could have given you a better home--adopted you instead."
Naomi shook her head slightly. "That's past now. And most likely, even that wouldn't have gotten me to the States--I had no knowledge of my blood relatives, and the Army would have wanted that. I am very happy to have had any life at all. I know what could have happened to me. Even in a convent, I'm still freer than I would ever have been...and now I'm in America, and if I ever want to, I can leave the convent."
Trapper nodded once more, managing half a smile. The moment faded, and both suddenly looked around the room, seeming disconcerted as they remembered how many others were there.
"Well, that's all the introductions, anyway," broke in Klinger. "Time for the food!"
And so they ate and talked, the others filling in incidents at the hospital that had escaped the Father's memory, and asking Naomi questions about her life--past, present, and hopes for the future.
At last the evening became night. "We should take a stroll through New York once the Potters decide to get to bed," Hawkeye whispered to B.J. "I know my daughters are dying to look at the buildings lit up and celebrity-watch."
"It'll dazzle the heck out of Naomi, too, I'll bet. Sounds good to me," B.J. replied.
Instead of replying, Hawkeye raised his voice and addressed the table at large. "All right, now! Friends, Koreans, medical men--and medical women, company clerks, children, and other life forms--lend me your ears. I have something of great interest to Naomi--something I've kept since her departure--and I think the time has come to give it back." From within his old and battered bathrobe, which he had also brought for the occasion, he drew a folded piece of yellowed, musty paper, and handed it to Naomi. Wonderingly, she unfolded it and read it--and clapped a hand over her mouth, once more close to tears.
"What is it?" Klinger asked Hawkeye.
It was Naomi who answered. "This must be from my mother--the note she wrote to explain her leaving me with you. 'This is my baby'..." She skimmed over the note, reading parts under her breath..." 'She is good baby...strong...beautiful. ...Please take care of her...I cannot...but..' ." She looked at Hawkeye, to Sister Maria Angelica, and around the table, then read the last words aloud. " '...But I love her.' " She couldn't speak, but the poetic eyes that Father Mulcahy had noticed spoke for her.
"Hawkeye, I thought we included that note when we dropped her off at the monastery," B.J. finally said.
Hawkeye shook his head. "No, I left a note that said much the same thing, though I didn't mention who we were--but I kept the original. Sentimentally, I guess, but now I can return it. And with the return of that note, Sister Naomi, I hereby dub you an official member of each of the following families: Pierce, Hunnicutt, Winchester, Klinger, Potter, Mulcahy, O'Reilly, Burns, Blake, and McIntyre--heck, and Freedman, for that matter. You're as much a part of the 4077th as anyone, and we've always considered ourselves related somehow, whether we were together or otherwise. We can't give you back your birth family, so we're giving you ten or eleven honorary ones. Congratulations."
Naomi only managed a brief thank-you before she finally, inevitably did what had been building all night: she burst into tears.
After that came more celebratory things--music and a bit of dancing, more talking, more joking, and dessert. Finally, as Hawkeye predicted, the Potters decided to go to their hotel room, several floors above, and turn in. Charles also declined to walk the streets of New York--some things never changed; the unspoken theory was that it was too tourist-like for a man of his bloodlines and caliber--but Clara and her mother wanted to go, and joined the throng. The group saw plenty of lit-up buildings, though no celebrities, and ended up several blocks away, filling a cafe to have final coffees and, in the children's cases, final desserts.
"You'll come visit us sometime, won't you, Naomi?" asked Becky Pierce.
"And us?" asked Ben Hunnicutt.
"And us?" added Clara Winchester.
"And us, too!" put in Paul Klinger.
"And I'm sure the O'Reillys would love to see you, too--if it wasn't for a really big family thing, they would have come, Mr. O'Reilly says," Beth Pierce explained. "You'll like his house, too--he's got all the animals you could ever want, and big vegetable gardens, and flowers..."
"And even Mr. Burns's house is pretty all right," cut in Benjamin John (commonly known as B.J.), her brother. "He's not *quite* so bad now as in the Army, I guess, and anyway, Mrs. Burns makes great pies."
The children--well, comparative children, considering their ages-- chattered on at one big table with Naomi, who seemed very comfortable around them. The adults--also comparatively--watched her still from their own tables.
"The newest child of the M*A*S*H gang," observed Sister Maria Angelica. "You'll have her completely torn between convent and Crabapple Cove, Hawkeye, if your children keep at it much longer."
"Yeah, really--some night she'll turn up on my doorstep, demanding to meet everyone in town," Hawkeye replied. "And you'll be back at the convent, singing, 'How do you solve a problem like Na-o-mi-i-i?'" He sang the line himself, grinning mischievously as he did so.
Naomi looked over at him as he sang, then excused herself from the "children's table" and came to his. "Hawkeye, I just remembered something that I've been meaning to tell you."
"Oh?"
"Yes. You told me earlier about all the last goodbyes I got, the things you all said before I was given to the monks--and yours ended 'be happy', didn't it?"
"Uh-huh."
"Maybe I remembered it subconsciously," Naomi said. "That's what my name means, you know. Well, the most-used definition is really 'pleasant'-- but in some interpretations, the name Naomi means 'happy'. I got that nickname in the monastery, but I didn't have to keep it. I chose to on my own."
"She's right," said Father Mulcahy. "It does mean 'happy'. I'd forgotten."
Hawkeye stared for a second--then began to laugh. "They all fit. Charles called you 'small one', and you're petite; B.J. called you 'angel', and you gave your life to the convent...and I didn't call you anything, but I told you to be happy...and there you are. And we didn't want to give you up, but when we did, it ended up bringing you back to us. Incredible."
Father Mulcahy nodded, looking first to Naomi and then to B.J., Hawkeye, and Maria Angelica. "God does move in mysterious ways."
Naomi fingered her mother's letter and nodded. She looked one more time over the scene--and the members of many of her eleven honorary families. She remembered one more thing, too--the Biblical Naomi had thought once, after most of her family died, that she would be alone and abandoned--but she ended up with Ruth, and Ruth in turn was married, and welcomed Naomi into her new family. Her name was more appropriate than she'd thought.
*God does move in mysterious ways*, Father Mulcahy had said.
*Amen,* Naomi thought to herself.
(end)